


One Shot: House Call

by brownskinsugarplum76



Category: Led Zeppelin, Rock Music RPF
Genre: British, Caretaking, Common Cold, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Illnesses, Led Zeppelin References, Nudity, One Shot, Reading, Rock Stars, Rock and Roll, Tea, The Silmarillion References, Touring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-29
Updated: 2019-07-29
Packaged: 2020-07-26 16:45:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20029897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brownskinsugarplum76/pseuds/brownskinsugarplum76
Summary: 1977 Robert, your love, comes home from the first leg of the tour, only to find out you’re sick. He does what he can to cheer you up in the wee hours of the morning. (Nudity, but no smut. Just lots of caring, domestic Robert.)





	One Shot: House Call

You awaken to the sensation of weight pushing down on the bed. You are still a little weak and disoriented, but then you remember where you are, as well as who has joined you.

It is Robert. It must be just into Sunday morning. You know that you must’ve slept all yesterday, because he said he’d be home from the tour around 2 a.m.

A sneeze comes barreling out of your nose, and your head reels. You decide to focus on the positive: the first leg of the tour that started a couple of months ago is over, which means you’ll have a few weeks alone with your love. But you wish that you weren’t so sick on his first night home.

He kisses your cheek. “Hmm… You’re burning up, love. Are you OK?”

He smooths your hair out of your face and feels your forehead. He turns on his nightstand light and looks around the room.

On your nightstand are a teacup, a near-empty bottle of honey, a box of cold pills, and a stack of magazines. A box of tissues has fallen to the floor, and your trash can is filled with discarded tissues.

“When did this happen?” he asks. You were fine the last time the two of you talked on the phone.

“It hit me really bad yesterday,” you croak out with a scratchy throat.

You tell him that he might not want to get too close to you because of your awful cold. The tour was already delayed because he was sick, and you’d hate for it to happen a second time.

He dismisses your fears. “No microscopic germs are going to keep me away from you tonight. I’ll be here nursing you back to health, so you can do all those things you promised last week that you’d do to me.”

You’re secretly happy for his disregard, but you hope it won’t turn out to be a bad decision. You smile weakly and take your first good look at him in months. He’s on top of the covers in his t-shirt and jeans, after tossing his favorite leather jacket and red Converse sneakers and socks in a pile on the floor.

He looks a little leaner than when he left, and his hair is a little longer. He’s still wearing the linked collar necklace that he picked up while you two were on holiday last year, and he’s paired it with a new lightning bolt pendant on a longer chain.

His smile hasn’t changed one bit, though. The way your body is jolted by electric enchantment when you see him hasn’t changed, either.

You reach for Robert, nestling your fingers between his. He gently squeezes your hand.

“First order of business: are you comfortable?” He fluffs your pillows so you can sit up.

“And how about tea? Would you like some more? I can put the kettle on.”

You nod and thank him. He kisses your forehead, grabs your empty teacup and honey bottle, and leaves for the kitchen.

With the water heating, he comes back to the bedroom, strips off his clothes, and joins you under the covers.

You slide back down in the bed and snuggle into him. You are wearing a thin, long-sleeved nightgown. The heat you feel when he drapes his arms around you and presses his chest into your back is comforting, just what the doctor ordered. The two of you cuddle for a while.

You turn around and spend a lot of time gazing into Robert’s eyes while he smiles and traces the features of your face. The view into his stormy blue eyes that you missed so much is one of the main things keeping you awake at the moment.

“We had a string of great shows, but I wish you were there to share the fun with me,” he says, breaking the spell after a while.

He kisses the top of your head. “I have some souvenir surprises for you. I’ll give you them in the morning.”

You thank Robert for the gifts and let him know that you missed him, too.

The angry whistle of the tea kettle pierces the air. “I’ll be right back,” Robert says.

He blesses your eyes with the golden-skinned vision of his retreating figure. His easygoing amble means that you have more than enough time to enjoy the view of his athletic body.

You fixate on his suitcase and carry-on backpack on the floor once he’s gone. You’re wondering how big the load of laundry will be, how many new shirts, shoes, and pieces of jewelry he brought back with him this time. You’re also curious to see how many books and records he bought - - he always travels light so he can bring home whichever new things catch his eye.

You hope your souvenir isn’t another piece of lingerie, because you teased him that you’d run screaming from the house if he found a way to weasel another post-concert striptease out of you.

You hear Robert’s footsteps softly hitting the carpet in the hall. You quickly turn on the light on your side of the bed so you can better see the sight that you’ve missed dearly during your time apart.

Robert, just being his proud, affable self, doesn’t disappoint. He’s wearing only his brightest smile. His focus is on you, focusing on him.

He carries a tray with your teacup, a plate of digestive biscuits, and a brand new bottle of honey. He sits the tray on your lap.

He looks to your lamp and grins wider. “I didn’t expect to be back in the spotlight so soon, darlin’,” he drawls. He places his hands on his hips and tosses his hair off his shoulders. He turns his face, presenting the side of him that is always photographed.

Part of you wants to roll your eyes at how Robert is shamelessly posturing in his trademark concert stance, but you can’t deny that you’ve been yearning to see his heavenly visage and statuesque body again and appreciate each second of his preening.

You drink in every aspect of his presence, from the curls on his head to the fuzz dusting his broad chest and stomach, to his abundant manhood and his shapely thighs. Your admiration darkens to lust, and you begin to feel feverish in a familiar way that is clearly not due to your illness.

“That’s enough of that; gotta save your strength for later, yeah?” His wicked grin turns to something more innocent as he hops into bed and pulls the covers over his chest. You tease him for being so modest now.

He tells you to turn off your lamp so you can fall asleep, when the time comes, without interruptions. And then he fills you in on all the antics and gossip from the road, acting out his favorite stories with gestures and silly voices.

You laugh the whole time, and it makes up for the lack of his fun-loving presence for so long. Sure, there were moments of amusement on the phone, but it’s just not the same. You tell him again that you’re glad he’s back.

After some more chatter, Robert realizes that your energy is winding down. He takes your tray back to the kitchen.

When he comes back, he rummages through his bag and returns to the bed with a book. “It’s The Silmarillion,” he says. He knows you’ve been excited as he has been about it when you’ve talked on the phone.

He begins to read it to you while you settle into his arms again and lay your head on his chest. It feels like an extremely delightful fever dream, but the music of his soft, accented speech with the bass line of his heart beat means without a doubt that he’s back.


End file.
